


Ratchet And His Harem Of Ex-Cons

by sleep



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Sybian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-22
Updated: 2015-04-22
Packaged: 2018-03-25 06:46:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3800779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleep/pseuds/sleep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ratchet has some fun with his harem of ex-cons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ratchet And His Harem Of Ex-Cons

**Author's Note:**

> I thought the thought "Ratchet and his harem of ex-cons", and knew I had to write something with it. (I have no other explanation/justification for this. Which is why that is both the title, summary, and start of the notes.)  
> You may make up your own explanation for how Grit and Ambulon both are on the Lost Light. At the same time. I have no explanation.   
> Please Enjoy!

The medbay was quiet. Ratchet's shift was over, and there were no sudden emergencies to call him back. He leisurely walked over to a private – and conveniently soundproof – room connected to the medbay, unlocked it, and slid inside, making sure to close and lock the door properly after him. He then slowly looked over the tools he had there. He was in no hurry. The three panting mechs in the room seemed to disagree, though, straining in their bounds and making high-pitched whines.  
  
He eventually turned to them, acting like if he had been unaware of their presence up to that point. He then slowly walked by them, inspecting them carefully. Grit, Drift, and Ambulon were all individually chained to a sybian, and they all had a ball-gag in their mouth. Muffled moans and panting resonated in the room, together with the whirring sound of the sybians pistoning a false spike into each of their valves. Ratchet had left them there before his shift started, and the patterns of transfluid running from their valves and covering the sybians – and the floor under them, and their thighs – showed that they had been busy.   
  
Ratchet stopped by Grit – he had been given the biggest false spike by virtue of being the biggest of the three, but he was also unused to this kind of game, so Ratchet was not sure how he had handled it – who was releasing loud, muffled moans as he was being slammed into, clutching with all his might onto the saddle as the spike ravished his valve.   
  
“And how is our newest member doing?” Ratchet smiled as he leaned down and poked a finger into Grit's valve, along with the pumping spike. Grit whined and tried to say something, making Ratchet stand up and remove the ball-gag. “Yes?” “I'm d- doing good.” He panted heavily, his whole frame shivering with each thrust. Ratchet leaned close towards Grit's audial. “You are doing good _what_?” “I'm doing good, _Master!_ ” The last word was spit out as if it was something filthy, but Ratchet was satisfied. Grit would get used to using the word soon enough.   
  
Ratchet walked back a few steps, and observed the three mechs before him. “Well, since you all have been good and not opened your other panels, I suppose you should get a reward.” Ratchet pressed a remote control, and the sybians slowed down to a halt. Ratchet undid the cuffs, and removed the remaining ball-gags. The three still remained seated on their now un-moving spikes. Ratchet had not said to step off yet.   
  
Ratchet walked over to a low table, and laid down on his back, stretching out. “Come over here.” The three frames heaved themselves off of the spikes, and followed him to the table. Ratchet smiled at the trails of transfluid that followed their paths. “I want you” he pointed at Drift “down my throat. And you” he pointed at Grit “in my valve. And you” he pointed at Ambulon “on my spike.” A chorus of “Yes, Master” followed. “But first, prepare me.”   
  
Ambulon immediately fell down on his knees, and started kissing and nibbling at the base of Ratchet's spike while dipping nimble fingers down sensitive seams on his torso. Drift leaned down and showered Ratchet's throat with kisses and licks. The moment when they finally managed to draw out a pleased moan from Ratchet's vocalizers was one of triumph – as it always was – but this time it had something lacking. Grit was standing uncertain to the side, staring but not doing anything.   
  
“Grit, what's wrong?” Grit jumped at being talked to. “Oh, um, nothing.” He held a hand to the back of his neck, avoiding Ratchet's optics. “I just don't know what exactly I'm meant to do?” Ratchet raised an eyeridge, but before he could speak, Grit added a “Master” as the end of the sentence. “Just lean down and start preparing me for being penetrated. Using your tongue is good.” Grit leaned down, and uncertainly started stroking a finger around Ratchet's valve. He liked doing that to himself, anyway. Above him, Ambulon had taken the head of Ratchet's spike inside his mouth, licking and sucking, making Ratchet moan again. Slag it, he had to step up his game.  
  
But the whole situation was... Weird. This was not how they usually interfaced among the Decepticons; they were usually one on one, and he had never been left on a fragging-device for a whole shift before. He was pretty sure it was not how they did it among the Autobots either. But he wanted to please – and pleasure – Ratchet, and he had agreed to this strange arrangement, so he would give it a go. With two other people also pleasuring the same bot.   
  
Grit removed his circling finger, and sat down by the low table. He reached his glossa out, and tryingly started licking the lips of the valve. The medic tasted... Maybe not sweet, but he tasted good. Grit soon found himself with his face buried between Ratchet's thighs, his glossa buried as deep as it could while he drank in as much of the pre-transfluid as he could.  
  
“Enough!” The shout came suddenly, startling them all in their ministrations; Ambulon stuck with Ratchet's spike shoved well down his throat, Drift sucking on sensitive neck-cables while massaging the medic's sensitive hands, and Grit with his glossa deep inside his valve. They all removed themselves, and awaited further orders.  
  
Ratchet had at some point started panting, and was now slowly trying to steady his breathing, staving off the overload that he had gotten dangerously close to having. When he was satisfied that his charge had fell enough for him to not immediately be pushed over the edge, he spoke again. “To your positions. As I said earlier.”   
  
Ambulon carefully climbed on top of the medic, and positioned himself over the ready spike. Drift stood up and bared his spike, resting it by Ratchet's face. Grit let out his spike – oh, and what a gloriously thick spike it was; Ratchet had clearly chosen the right bot for the task – and positioned himself to enter Ratchet. When Ratchet was certain that everyone was prepared, he gave the order to proceed.   
  
Immediately, he was flooded with sensations from all directions. Ambulon's tight valve – he had made sure to give him one of the smaller spikes earlier – glided down his spike, hugging him and clenching down, while Grit sank about halfway into him – Ratchet hooked his legs around Grit's waist, encouraging him to go deeper – and Drift shoved his spike as far down Ratchet's throat as he managed. They halted for a moment, before Ratchet gestured for them to proceed.   
  
Before he knew it, he had his valve and mouth filled to the brim, the owners of the spikes slamming into him with all their might, while the valve on his spike slid up and down, going just a little further down with each descent. Having three mechs taking him at once was a perfect amount, with two spikes filling him to the brim with each motion while a tight valve bobbed up and down on him.  
  
Being entered and entering at the same time was such an amazing feeling, and when Grit finally sank down to the shaft in one swift motion, Ratchet moaned wantonly for more. He leaned his head further back to allow for more of Drift's spike, and grabbed a hold of Ambulon's waist, slamming him down so he too was properly shafted.   
  
Ambulon let out a wail and clenched down, shuddering as the spike inside him entered him fully, bulging his plating and stretching his valve, seeking space that simply was not there. He leaned on Ratchet while breathing heavily for a few nano-kliks, before going back to riding Ratchet, now making sure to slide all the way down with each fall, crying out each time he was fully sheathed.   
  
Ratchet reached out a hand, and rested it on Ambulon's stomach, feeling himself moving inside, under the shivering plating. Ambulon grabbed a hold of the hand, pressing it to the spot where the bulge would appear, the added pressure stimulating him even more.   
  
By his mouth, Drift was panting and trying to do a steady rhythm, but he got put off it each time Ratchet swivelled his tongue around his spike. Ratchet did his best to lean back to give Drift full access, but he would not just be an unparticipating party. Oh no. He would make sure Drift got his pleasure from his special talents.   
  
He moved slightly with each of Grit's thrusts, as he was driven into by that wonderfully thick spike, his insides slick and stretched. Each thrust felt like it hit an as of yet untouched part of his valve, giving him ripples of pleasure as he moved. He was close now. Judging from the increasingly irregular movements of the other mechs, they were close too.   
  
Ambulon's shakily asked, “M- Master, may I release my s- spike?” Ratchet gave a slight nod, making Drift buckle over as his spike was driven further into Ratchet's mouth at a new angle. After a few more erratic thrusts from all directions, Ratchet felt his overload becoming imminent. He clenched down as much as he could the next time Grit sheathed him, and was instantly pumped full of hot transfluid. He simultaneously did that little swirl with his tongue that Drift liked so much, toppling him over the top too.  
  
Ratchet swallowed as best he could – which was to say, extremely well – as he also overloaded, his transfluid mixing with Grit's inside his valve, and his spike releasing the fluids into Ambulon's seated – and thus sealed – valve. The added pressure made Ambulon overload too, his valve filling with transfluids, with only a tiny portion escaping out to colour Ratchet's plating. His spike, on the other hand, did a good enough job of splattering on Ratchet's chest. Ratchet made sure to milk the overload of all he could, until he lay limply with three panting, spent mechs, none of which were moving any more.   
  
He felt the spikes slowly leave him, feeling empty but sated. Ambulon tried to get off, but he only got halfway off before his strength gave way, making him collapse down on Ratchet's spike again. “Master, I, I can't...” Ambulon remained fully sheathed for a few moments, before Grit helped him off, carefully lifting him away from Ratchet's spike. The collected fluids gushed out as his entrance became unblocked, running down his thighs and over Ratchet's crotch. Ratchet stared at the three mechs – dripping interfacing equipment and sticky crotches – and then down at himself. They were all a mess.   
  
“Clean me.” The command was met with exhausted enthusiasm, as he again was covered with skilfully licking glossas. His spike, his valve, his chest, his face; they were all slowly licked clean, leaving only an unnatural sheen in the place of the transfluid. When Drift had finished up his face, he planted a deep kiss on Ratchet's mouth, his tongue exploring its sweet and sticky insides. Following suit, the two others left soft kisses on Ratchet's interfacing equipment. He had such good mechs serving him.   
  
But _they_ were still sticky. He should do something about that. “Oh my. You've all made such a mess of yourselves.” He smirked. “Go sit down.” They obediently did so. “Now, it's my time to clean you.”   
  
He started with Drift. He dragged his glossa leisurely over Drift's spike, drinking up all the remaining transfluid, and taking special care to dip his glossa down the split. When he was satisfied, he went on to Drift's valve, still sticky from the sybian. Drift always tasted so sweet, and the small gasps and whimpers he made when being eaten out were like music in Ratchet's audials. He parted Drift's lips with his glossa, dipping it inside and swirling it around. He lightly caught the nub with his denta, and licked it once. He then went on to clean Drift's thighs, carefully not touching his valve any more. When he was satisfied – new lubricant was leaking out of Drift's valve, but Ratchet ignored it – he removed himself from the shaking and gasping bot, and went on to the next sticky bot.   
  
Ambulon had barely used his spike, so it was clean with one, long, lick, which finished at the head and made a shiver go through Ambulon. Ratchet then started cleaning his boxy thighs and crotch – Ambulon was by far the one with the most transfluid covering his plating – drinking in the mixture of his own and Ambulon's transfluid. His valve clenched lightly at Ratchet's invading tongue, its size far too little compared to Ratchet's spike. But Ratchet knew exactly where to lick to leave the younger medic both clean and craving.   
  
Ratchet at last walked over to Grit, sitting down between his thighs to start the task at hand. Ratchet was not familiar with this interfacing equipment, and he took great pleasure in mapping the spots that made the mech quiver and gasp, while cleaning away the transfluid from his spike. He proceeded to do the same with his valve, slowly prodding and exploring the unknown territory. Grit tasted slightly bitter.  
  
When Ratchet was finished cleaning Grit, he stood up, and inspected the three mechs again. Strained breathing, shivers when his fingers lightly brushed over plating, trickles of transfluid and lube sullying their newly cleaned interfacing equipment... “Would you like to play some more?” The eager nods made a smile form on his face. 

 


End file.
